Doncaster 3-0 Wigan: Donny Uwe Worry ‘Bout a Thing

Oy you lot, get back to work! What do you think this is, an FA Cup tie?

Agh, back to the day job it is, then. Why can’t every day be FA Cup day? Oh yeah, because the media would be even less bearable than usual – if I hear Gary Lineker utter the phrase ‘magic of the FA Cup’ one more time I will crush my final remaining Garibaldi biscuit with the force of a hundred Sergio Aguero strikes. Or not, because I need that for my tea.

The Championship is an able surrogate in between cup ties, however. We don’t want pristine pitches and premium pies, for that is not the attraction of the sport. It is, of course, the pom-pom dancing girls and rampant commercialism instigated by gentlemen in ten gallon hats and cowboy boots. But enough stereotyping for the time being.

An early casualty of a distinctly ‘northern’ bubble-wrap Keepmoat surface was the original match ball. It was toe-poked with such force that its casing became detached not only from the pig’s bladder, but existence itself as it disintegrated to form a miniature black hole. The whole incident was like the football form of spontaneous human combustion, only not really because I am exaggerating for effect as usual.

You’d be a fool to think Latics would wearily take a seat to watch the Lakeside darts. Mainly because that competition finished a couple of weeks ago and we’re back to watching waistcoated men poke small balls with long sticks. But Rosler wouldn’t have permitted any lollygagging between the hours of 3 and 5 due to the high density of traffic wardens in the Doncaster geographic area, especially since a ‘please move your vehicle’ flyer was found pinned to Ben Watson’s rear end.

The visitors almost retaliated through either of the two Nicks – Maynard and Powell. The former tried first with a palm-stinging attempt to test former Chelsea gloveman Ross Turnbull. Powell was next, but neglected to take into account the fact that this new ball had been inflated with helium. Nah, not really – his finish was just a bit rubbish and we should apportion blame accordingly. Fetch the hot tongs!

One torture session later…

Nick Powell is punished for his crimes.

A relatively turgid period followed, though the problem was solved shortly before half time when a ball boy found ‘popping’ the aforementioned bubble wrap surface was relegated to discarded polystyrene cup-collecting in the away end. As a direct result, the hosts closed the half in the ascendancy – 1-0 a decent enough compromise for Dr Rosler?

What remained of Wigan’s fortune was about to depart on the 4.12 to Wallgate, however. The previously impressive Chris McCann turned Keystone for a brief moment, allowing James Coppinger to scramble the ball mere millimetres the correct side of Al Habsi’s goal line. Harrumph, this Hawkeye alarm system is awful – why didn’t the ref’s Etch-A-Sketch wristwatch flag it up? Incidentally, that was a rhetorical question and I am aware such technology does not exist outside of the Scrooge McDuck Pound Coin Swimming Pool League. Heheh.

Can we go for fish and chips yet?

Following Tuesday’s late night, it was about time for an early finish. Sure enough, the result was sealed by 4.30pm as polymath Mr Brown took a break from his various alternative pursuits to slot away the penalty earned by James Husband. Hmm, got to be careful I don’t accidentally slip an errant apostrophe into that name.

But thanks to an energetic, well-researched and wonderfully executed Rovers strategy, that was it for the game and Rosler’s ‘amazing’ unbeaten streak. The final fifteen minutes consisted of jeer after ego-bruising jeer to such an extent the odd Latics fan could take no more. To a certain degree, I empathise with their decision to leave early. Cue the added hate mail for my ever-growing ‘to do’ pile…

Forget all that, anyway, because the FA Cup’s back next week! Crikey, combine that with the re-hashed post title and I sound like one of those newspapers I don’t read. (I do look at the pictures, though, and they’re very interesting indeed.)

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